The Darkest Prison (Lords of the Underworld #3.5)(8)
Author: Gena Showalter

The king ran his tongue over his teeth. “Of which her do you speak?”

“Nike. Greek goddess of Strength.” He did not allow a single bit of affection to lace his tone.

The king’s eyes widened. “The one who…” Now those eyes dropped to Atlas’s chest, where his shirt covered his tattoos.

“Yes. The very one.” Hear my anger, only my anger. Except, what she’d done no longer angered him. The marks were as much a part of him now as his were a part of her.

“Interesting.” Cronus leaned back in the throne, the picture of contemplation. “Do you not think she is being made to suffer enough inside Tartarus?”

Time for his second lie. “No. I do not.” In truth, as dejected as she’d sounded at their last meeting, the goddess was suffering. And he didn’t like it.

“And what will you do to increase her suffering?”

“Much as she hates me—” desires me, he added inside his head, so that he wouldn’t reveal the depths of irritation thoughts of her possible loathing elicited “—she will take particular displeasure in cleaning my home, preparing my food and warming my bed.”

The king smiled up at the ghostly girl. “What you’d like to do to your Paris, eh, my Sienna? Make him your slave.”

Her expression never changed. She offered no response, either.

Paris who? Atlas wondered, and then shrugged. He didn’t care. Nike was his only concern at the moment.

“My king?” Atlas prompted. “I lack only your permission to begin Nike’s torment. My determination is unparalleled.”

Cronus faced him once again, his smile falling away. A minute passed in silence, then another. Then the king sighed. “I’m afraid my answer has to be no. While I like the thought of Nike’s anguish intensified at your hands, I’m unwilling to risk the removal of her collar, even for the few seconds required to flash her. She is Strength, and were she to somehow escape you and free her brethren, another heavenly war would erupt. I cannot afford to have my attention divided now. Well, not any more than it already is. I find I spend most of my time observing the Lords of the Underworld.”

The Lords of the Underworld? Who were they? Didn’t matter, really. As he’d spoken, Atlas’s own sense of dejection had bloomed. He wanted to stalk up that dais, grab the king and shake him. How dare his request be denied? How dare his desires be discarded? Instead, he said, “Very well, my king. I thank you for your time,” and pivoted on his heel. He strode from the chamber before he did something foolish, as he had done with Nike in his office. Only, his goal would not be climaxing.

He’d already decided that nothing would keep him from claiming Nike. Now he realized that not even this would do so. The king’s will be damned. He would have his woman, just as he wanted.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Come with me.”

Nike’s heart raced at the sound of that deep voice. Hesitant, she rolled over on her cot. Sure enough. Her skin tingled when her gaze found Atlas. Gorgeous as ever, he stood at the bars—bars that were now open. His hand was extended, and he was waving her over. There was fury in his too-tight expression.What had she done this time?

She’d tried to ignore him. She’d tried to pretend that she felt nothing for him. Anything to stop the madness. But gods, she couldn’t stop thinking about their kiss. She couldn’t stop wishing she’d allowed him to take her all the way. That she’d have experienced everything before being taken back to nothing.

So what if he would have tired of her afterward? So what if he would have been smug about her capitulation? So what if he found someone else and paraded her before Nike? For a few blessed hours—who was she kidding?—for a few blessed minutes, because it wasn’t as if either one of them would last beyond that, she would have known the joy of being with him again. Of simply feeling, giving, taking, sharing…loving.

Have all the rest, common sense piped up, but deny the love.

That would be my pleasure. But I have to get him to offer me the rest first.

“Come,” he repeated.

What did he have planned?

Slowly she sat up. Her hair was in desperate need of a brush, and gods, the rest of her needed a shower. How long since she’d had one? Prisoners were given a bowl of water each day and that was it.

“Why?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Do you want to spend a few hours outside the prison or not?”

Wait. What? Leave Tartarus? She was on her feet before her brain could process what she was doing. Her knees almost buckled, she’d spent so much time prone, bored, but she managed to stay upright. She even reached out and twined their fingers together. The heat of his skin should not have shocked her, but it did. The calluses should not have ignited a fire in her blood, but they did.

“You’re taking me outside?”

“Yes. But do not say a word when we reach the guard’s station. Understand?”

“Yes.” This could be a trick. A trick to build up her hopes only to dash them cruelly, but she didn’t care. If there was a chance, slight though it was, that he would actually stay true to his word, she would do anything he asked.

Without a word, he led her from the cell and down the hall. Other prisoners spotted her and gasped. Some began to murmur amongst themselves, gossiping as they’d once enjoyed doing in the heavens. Some gripped their bars and simply watched her through wistful eyes.

Erebos even shouted, “Hey, where are you going with her now?”

Atlas ignored him, and Nike followed suit. A sense of urgency pounded through her. If Atlas did this, took her outside, even for a few hours…Why would he do such a thing?

“Did you get permission for this?” she asked. “And we’re not at the guard’s station yet, so it’s okay that I’m talking.”

“No. I didn’t get permission.” His words were curt, clearly meant to end the conversation.

As if she’d ever done what was expected of her. “Then why are you—”

“Just be quiet.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll shut you up my favorite way.”

Her mouth fell open. Did he mean he’d shut her up with a kiss? Or by pushing a button on her collar and shooting painful lances through her brain? It was fifty-fifty, she thought. His proclamation had the desired results, however. She was too busy pondering his meaning to talk.

In the guard’s station, two Titans were laughingly making bets about the prisoners. They looked up at Atlas and nodded politely in greeting—only to freeze when they spotted her. As promised, she remained quiet.